Reconstruction
by Ceridwen and Cei
Summary: Harry is an alcoholic wreck whose solace comes from dreams; Draco has lost everything, even the will to use magic. A chance reunion at the Hogwarts reconstruction site leads to self-discovery, redemption, and something bigger than either of them.
1. Chapter One

Reconstruction

Ceridwen and Cei

The war is finally over. Without a purpose, the Boy-Who-Lived and now Savior-of-the-Wizarding-World is an alcoholic wreck whose only solace comes from his dreams. Draco Malfoy has lost everything, even the will to use magic, and has labored for the past six months to gain back his place in the wizarding community. A chance reunion at the Hogwarts reconstruction site could be just the thing to save them from themselves, and lead to a journey of self-discovery, redemption, and something bigger than either of them had in mind.

Chapter One.

_Harry stood on the edge of a cliff, oblivious to the rain, or rather, he was the rain and nothing more. War waged on below him, incessant hexing and cursing and screaming, but the battle cries were silent, and every body that fell was silent, and he was silent. The flaming castle lit the grounds, blinding in its devastation. Countless classmates died, but Harry remained, Harry and the rain and the overwhelming futility of it all, until suddenly he was running, no longer on the cliff but in the midst of the battle. He yanked his wand out of his pocket and began casting spells in every direction, but nothing worked; he looked down into his hand and found he was not holding his wand, but the sword of Gryffindor, dripping with someone's—he didn't know whose—blood. He swung it blindly, slashing at anyone within reach, though no one seemed to feel their skin tearing open. They just fought on. Finally, Harry ran up to a cloaked figure and stabbed, stumbling back as though a blade were being stabbed into his own chest. Lunging forward with an alarming sense of urgency Harry ripped off the Death Eater's mask, and to his horror saw it was Dumbledore, looking up at him with empty eyes. Harry screamed._

"Harry! Harry, wake up!"

Harry groaned as he awoke, rubbing away the sleep from his eyes as they focused on a familiar face surrounded by a halo of curly brown hair. Hermione sat back, breathing a sigh of relief. She had been smart enough not to shake him awake this time. Ron sat by her side on the kitchen floor, examining the array of empty bottles with a mixture of awe and repulsion. Harry pushed himself into a sitting position, cracking his neck and searching for his glasses, which Hermione promptly handed to him.

"Harry, you have a problem," she said, concern etched all over her face.

Harry laughed dryly, looking around the dreary room. It was still dark except for the dim golden light from the window above the sink…a fake window, as there had been none and Hermione felt it would make the kitchen feel more cheerful. Harry agreed—twelve years spent in a cupboard was enough to make anyone appreciate a view of the outside world, magical or not. However, he wasn't feeling very cheerful now, nor had he been for quite a while. They had been living in Number 12, Grimmauld Place for six months, which was still headquarters for the Order, although most of the members were away at Hogwarts for the reconstruction or out hunting down the remaining Death Eaters; however, that mainly entailed pulling them from their hiding places and shipping them off to Azkaban, and he was not needed. Nothing particularly horrible had happened since Voldemort was killed. He almost wished it had.

"Hermione's right, mate." Ron cautiously placed a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back into reality. "You broke George's drinking record twice in one night."

Harry ignored him, standing up slowly. The room spun for a moment, and Hermione quickly grabbed his arm in case he was going to fall unconscious again, but the dizziness passed and he shrugged her off. He walked over to the cupboard, peering inside. It was full of food, but he wanted none of that. He rarely ate anymore.

"Harry, we got rid of it," Hermione stated nervously.

"All of it?" Harry asked, agitated. He slowly turned around to face her, watching her stiffen for a moment and then trade glances with Ron.

She straightened up and with underlying frustration, replied, "Yes, Harry. All of it."

Ron wisely kept his mouth shut. He realized this wasn't really his element; Hermione was better at getting Harry back on track, as she had shown during their years of school, and their year on the run. He would be here for moral support, and if things got too ugly, he could easily step in and be the mediator. But for now, he decided it was best to stay out of the unfolding chaos.

Hermione continued her tirade, pointing her finger in Harry's face. "This is the fourth night this week you've passed out drunk on the floor, Harry. Last week Ron had to cart you home from the bar because you were too drunk to apparate five feet in front of you, let alone to Grimmauld Place! You haven't visited Teddy in two months, and haven't left the house but to the bloody bar and back!"

Hermione's hair cracked with electricity, and magically seemed to grow as her voice got louder. "I am tired of making Sober-Up potions every two days! I am tired of the smell of alcohol in this house! I'm tired of seeing my best friend passed out drunk all the time, and I HAVE HAD ENOUGH!"

Her face was red as she finished, her chest heaving with anger.

Harry looked at her… and promptly threw up all over the floor.

Hermione threw her hands up. "THAT'S IT! HARRY YOU ARE GOING TO GET YOUR ASS OUT OF THIS HOUSE, AND DO SOMETHING, OR BY MERLIN, I AM GOING TO DRAG YOU OUT MYSELF! YOU WILL GET A GRIP AND PULL YOURSELF TOGETHER! STARTING NOW!"

"Hermione…" Ron interjected, avoiding Harry's gaze. "Where's he supposed to go? He can't go two feet without being trampled by the press…" They all fell silent, remembering the incident with Rita Skeeter. Harry hadn't been able to wash the lipstick off his face for days. Harry heaved a sigh, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

"Hogwarts," she said firmly. "He can help with the rebuilding. Go pack your bags, Harry."

"I'll help him," Ron said.

"Oh no you don't, Ron. Clean this up."

"Damn."


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two.

He couldn't remember a time when the weather had been more miserable. The sun was obscured by heavy grey clouds, and the ground and the trees were covered in snow, wet and awful. Even so, Harry trudged through it at a leisurely pace, not wanting to put on the false smile he would undoubtedly have to upon entering the school. He was grateful that Hermione had at least allowed him to come on his own, else she would probably have him sprinting up the hill. He had a massive hangover, and the apparation to Hogwarts grounds certainly hadn't helped ease the pounding in his head. He reached the top of the hill, the Hogwarts castle now in full view. Having arrived late in the day (he had tried to postpone his departure as long as possible) Harry wasn't surprised to see that no one was outside working. He stared down at the building; he tried to force himself to forget the events of six months ago, tried to overlook the still demolished parts of the building, tried not to remember how many people had died on the very spot he now stood…but he couldn't. He wondered if the castle would ever seem as enchanting as it had his first year. Lost in his thoughts, he didn't notice the figure arrive by his side.

"Potter."

Harry jumped; startled at the sound of someone's voice, he grabbed his wand and turned swiftly. The sight of Draco Malfoy calmly standing there caused his jaw to drop. However, Draco made no motion to draw his wand, indicated no sign of hostility or even the general aura of superiority that seemed to be his trademark. The boy was dressed in extraordinarily simple attire for a Malfoy, nondescript black robes and a grey scarf. The only sign of color on him at all was the faint pinkness in his cheeks from the cold; Harry wondered how long he had been standing there.

"M-Malfoy," he began, lowering his wand subconsciously. The blonde nodded curtly, maintaining eye contact, but there was no challenge in his gaze.

"McGonagall requested I escort you back to the building; Granger informed her you would be coming. Most are in the Great Hall at the moment. If you're hungry, there's plenty to eat." He glanced towards the building, then back at Harry.

"Is this some sort of joke, Malfoy?" Harry spat. He hadn't thought anything could make his headache worse. He had been wrong.

"No, really. Six months was plenty of time to repair the kitchen." Harry looked at him suspiciously. The words were very Draco, but the tone seemed…hollow. Sighing, he grabbed the handle of his trunk and followed after Draco, who had already begun walking back to the castle. He couldn't help but wonder why the hell an ex-Death Eater would be at Hogwarts, of all places. He remembered hearing Hermione mention something about a trial, but he had probably been wasted at the time.

Harry trailed along in the snow, his feet sinking in the new layer that had formed before his arrival. The fact that he still had his hangover didn't help him as he stumbled along the path, following a beacon of platinum blonde hair as his head pounded in time with his heart.

Harry sighed in relief as they reached the front doors. Draco seemed to have heard him, for Harry caught a shadow of what was the infamous Malfoy smirk before Draco looked at him and said bitterly, "Welcome to Hogwarts, Potter," as he slipped his thin frame through the crack between the doors.

Harry slipped in behind him, glancing around anxiously. For some reason he couldn't help but feel apprehensive about the whole situation; an _ex-Death Eater_ who practically attempted murder on the headmaster was apparently in charge of leading him around…an ex-Death Eater who just happened to have more than his fair share of reason to hate him. Harry halted, startled by the realization that he had put this boy's father is Azkaban. Rightly so, he felt, but still…how could Draco be treating him so calmly? Did he forgive Harry? No, it was far too good to be true.

"Hurry up," Draco said; he had paused, but was not even looking at Harry, and despite his command he seemed like he had no desire to return to the Great Hall.

"Sod off," Harry retorted, pushing past the blonde. _He_ was Harry Potter, the savior of the Wizarding World, and certainly didn't need to be bossed around; _he_ had everyone at his beck and call; _he_ was the hero who all these people hadn't seen in months; and _he_ wanted to turn around and run as soon as he passed through the doors to the Great Hall. The room was packed with aurors, professors, ministry officials, nameless witches and wizards and even a few students, all digging in cheerfully to their meal. The room had been fully repaired but for the first time Harry could see the ceiling without any enchantment placed upon it. Instead of a starry night sky, it was a bare wooden ceiling, although it still seemed impossibly high. Instead of leaving him in a state of wonderment, it simply made him feel like the room was about to swallow him up.

He noticed McGonagall walking toward him, and he was glad to see that she, at least, had kept her serious demeanor; if she had been wearing some uncharacteristically bright smile he might have puked again. She was dressed in velvet purple robes, elegant but not too embellished, and she kept her head high with an air of responsibility. She was the new headmistress, he realized, but there was no ache of sorrow as he remembered the now deceased Dumbledore. There was only emptiness.

McGonagall clasped his hand in her own, regarding him warmly. Perhaps Hermione hadn't informed the woman of his recently acquired habits. "Harry, it's good to see you again."

"Likewise, Professor," he said, attempting a grin. McGonagall's gaze followed Harry's as he watched Draco slid past them and head towards the far end of the room, where he was intercepted by an older wizard. "Professor, if…why is…?"

She nodded, understanding his question. "Community service, of sorts. Part of the deal settled at his trial…surely you've heard? Holds a record for one of the longest trials in the ministry history, if I'm not mistaken."

Harry shook his head sheepishly. "I…haven't really been keeping up, to be honest." It wasn't a lie, at least.

Before McGonagall could respond, however, Draco went scurrying past them, his shirt and trousers soaked in some sort of liquid. He ran out the doors, head down, leaving everyone in a shocked silence until someone finally spoke up with, "Serves him right, the traitor. He'd best stay out, too."

Several people muttered in agreement, and slowly the volume returned to usual.

"Things certainly haven't been easy for Malfoy," McGonagall said grimly. "Especially since he's so adamant about not using magic…"

"What!" Harry couldn't believe what she was saying. "Draco Malfoy, conceited, pure-blooded magical supremacist bas-"

"Language, Mr. Potter," McGonagall warned, though there was a sort of resigned amusement in her eyes. "He has not used magic since the last night of his trial, by his own will. He refuses to explain why, but it's done nothing but add to the harassment he's receiving."

"Serves him right, the little sh-"

"MR. POTTER! You are to behave civilly towards Mr. Malfoy, especially since you are going to be sharing living quarters!"

Harry's mouth fell open. He couldn't believe that McGonagall would place him in the same rooms as Malfoy. Didn't she remember how much they hated each other? "But, Professor, I-."

McGonagall, with her lips set in a thin line and irritation coloring her voice, cut him off, saying, "No buts, Potter. You will be staying with Mr. Malfoy, end of discussion."

Harry sighed with resignation. He knew once McGonagall used that tone of voice, that there was no point in pleading your case- her mind was set. Very much like a bushy haired know-it-all he'd come to love like a sister over the years. He nodded towards McGonagall, turned around, and silently walked out the Great Hall. He was incredibly tired, and ready to go to bed.

Harry cursed. He forgot to ask McGonagall where his rooms where. "Dammit!"

"Potter."

Harry, somewhat embarrassed he was caught, turned and looked up the staircase. There stood Malfoy in dry clothes, looking bored. "What, Ferret?"

Malfoy ignored the jab, and said, "I am assuming you do not know the way to our rooms."

Harry didn't respond, but just looked at Draco, who sighed quietly and said, "Come."

Harry mutely followed him up the staircases, taking note of his surroundings so he wouldn't have to ask for directions again. They started to walk down the corridor on the fourth floor, Harry trailing silently behind Draco. The silence was unnerving; it was heavy with tension. Harry, who couldn't stand it any longer, asked, "So, what have you been doing for the last 6 months?"

Harry watched as Draco glanced over his right shoulder at Harry with narrowed eyes, replying, "That's none of your business, is it, Potter?"

Harry didn't respond as Draco turned his head around and picked up the pace. They turned a corner, Harry walking quickly to keep up. Silence reigned again as both men were immersed in their thoughts. Harry suddenly asked, "Why come back to Hogwarts?"

His answer was the echoing sound of their feet as they continued their trek to the dorms. Harry tried again, "What are you doing here anyway?"

Silence.

Harry continuously bombarded Draco with questions, each which were ignored. The green eyed boy's ire grew with each unanswered question. By the time they had reached the portrait, he was thoroughly angered. He wanted a response, dammit! But he remained silent as Draco stopped before the portrait.

Harry glanced up at the portrait. It was held in a thick gold frame, with small, elegantly designed snakes carved into it. But it was not the frame that Harry was drawn to, but rather the woman inside it. She was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on; her hair was luscious and blonde, falling past her shoulders. Her eyes were a piercing shade of grey, and her skin was pale and flawless. She was dressed in what seemed to be a curtain made of silver silk, but it hugged her curves alluringly. In her hand, she held a golden apple.

The woman opened her red lips and purred, "Hello again, Young Dragon. Back so soon?"

Draco nodded his affirmation. The seductive voice, tinted with an edge of danger, washed over Harry's body, causing him to shiver. His sudden movement seemed to alert the woman of his presence, for she pushed her body off the tree and lifted an elegant eyebrow at Draco as she said, "Now, who is this?"

Harry answered her, saying, "I am Harry Potter."

The woman stroked the apple she held in her hand as she whispered, "Oh, this is too good." She chuckled sinisterly, which caused Harry to have another shiver.

She tossed her apple in the air and caught it before turning to look at Harry again. She smirked at him and haughtily announced, "Greetings, little lion man. I am Discordia. Perhaps you have heard of me?"

Harry shook his head no- he doubted he could forget a woman like this.

Discordia sighed, but glanced at Draco under her lashes before whispering, "Password?"

Draco tonelessly answered, saying "Audeamus."

Discordia smirked at them before purring, "Indeed."

The portrait swung open, and the two men disappeared inside. The room held much of the same furniture as the Gryffindor common room, but with blander colors, brown and tan. There were several windows overlooking Hogwarts grounds, and the only portraits were that of scenery. Draco, however, had not stopped to look around, but had moved towards the fire. Harry glanced at him, and was struck by the expression on Draco's face. He was completely oblivious of the other boy in the room, somehow even oblivious of himself. The old Draco would have been one to play with the fire. Now he just looked like he wanted to jump in it.

Harry blinked, realizing he was still angry with the blonde for ignoring him.

"What the hell are you playing at by not using magic, Malfoy? Feeling guilty?"

Draco's silhouette cast by the fire stiffened. He slowly turned and looked Harry in the face. Harry gasped. Where proud silver eyes used to be were gray, lifeless orbs. Broken glass.

Draco locked eyes with Harry as he whispered, "You have no idea." Draco turned and ran to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.

Harry groaned. "Well, shit."


End file.
